The Bow of Heaven - Book I: The Other Al - By Andrew Levkoff Page 0,57

from her eyes without moving her hands from her sides. The gesture had an air of defiance.

Crassus sat back down on the bed. “Well then, child, let me assist you. Attend me, and learn. When you are with your mistress, you are on her side. When you are with both of us together, you are also on her side. And when you are alone with me, whose side ...?”

“Domina’s, dominus?”

“That’s right, Livia, you always take the side of your domina.”

“See how well I have him trained?” said Tertulla.

“Like a Phrygian bear,” I said. “Dominus, must we not make haste?”

“Columba, see? My master calls. I must depart.”

“Go then!” Tertulla said melodramatically, a forum actress, “go, and do not return!” She threw her arm across her forehead. She was only twenty-four; young enough to be excused, perhaps.

“Alexander,” Crassus said, serious for a moment, “are you prepared? How much did you lay out?”

“The usual. Seventy-five thousand.”

“Too much. It’s always too much.” Crassus eyed Tertulla’s favorite. “Well, Livia, since Mercurius is obviously sleeping in a corner somewhere, would you mind doing the honors?” He opened his arms, palms outward to illustrate the state of his undress. Livia ran out of the room smiling. “Happy girl, that,” he said. “Why do you suppose that girl is so happy? Anyone? Alexander?” he asked pointedly.

My eyes took a turn at inspecting the floor. Crassus winked, and I exhaled. Then, with resignation he said, “Bring it all.”

Tertulla sat up and reached for the peplos thrown haphazardly over the edge of the lectus. As she drew it over her head, her pale nipples disappeared behind falling fabric. Her husband said, “Reminds me of lids closing over tired eyes. An apt analogy, considering the hour.”

She caught his look and said impishly, “You can have them now, and everything that goes with them, but not later.”

“Alas, business before pleasure.”

“Your business is your pleasure,” Tertulla said, pouting as she dropped back down on the bed.

Livia returned balancing a huge pile of clothing in her arms, using her chin to keep it all from falling. I said, “Dominus will suffocate if he wears all of that.”

“I’m only following your example.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

“Did you not just bring to dominus more money than he will need, as a precaution?”

Crassus laughed as Tertulla clapped, “That’s my girl.”

“He’s not going to wear the money,” I muttered.

“Thank you, Livia,” Crassus said. “I prefer a large selection when I dress. You may go.” Livia raised her chin at me as she passed, a look of superiority more triumphant than the one she usually wore. As she reached the doorway Crassus added, “And try not to smile so much, dear. It is unbecoming of a slave.” A year or two earlier, my gut would have clenched to hear Crassus speak thusly, even in jest. Now, I felt only a pinch of sadness that even his words had lost their sting. We were what we were.

Dominus threw on two tunics, one over the other to protect against the chill. Mercurius, his ornator, came rushing in holding a heavy but short riding cloak which he proceeded to fasten about his master’s neck.

“Apologies, dominus.”

“You are ill-named, Mercurius. From now on, I shall call you Somnus.”

“Yes, dominus. Thank you, dominus.” Crassus dismissed him, then turned back to the bed. “Not one kiss then?”

“You had your chance.” Tertulla said, ducking back under the covers.

“Hmm. I think I deserve two.” Crassus crossed from the doorway back to their bed, gauged where Tertulla’s bottom was hidden and gave it a not-too-hard whack. She screamed, then laughed and finally cursed him, but I knew he must ignore her muffled baiting. If he delayed, who knew what damage would be done, what opportunities lost. Men and women were now running all over the villa, lighting oil lamps and sconces, preparing baskets of food, making almost as much noise as the rhythmic pounding at the front entrance.

“Would someone please open that door!” Crassus yelled. I snapped a finger and one of the lamp bearers ran off. “Damnation!” Crassus shouted, tripping over one of the only pieces of furniture in the bedroom, the small step stool used to climb up onto the lectus. Although the room was mostly bare, its walls were exquisitely painted with scenes from my own mythology; the floor, for example, had the light been better, would have revealed a mosaic of Xanthus and Balius, the immortal horses that bore Achilles in his chariot at Troy. The chariot was empty. Achilles kneeled in the dust